


In Eddie's Defense

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: So Much Trouble [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Black Panties, Cock Rings, Consensual non-con, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Discipline, Dominance, Face-Fucking, Finally Beta'd, M/M, Multi, Peter Doesn't Get Spanked, Power Imbalance, Spanking, Starker D/s, Submission, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21872638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Read at your own riskTime to find out what happened in that room between Eddie and Mr. Stark, I think.  And, as always, I have to smut up Tony and Peter, just a little.  Can't keep their damn hands off each other.~~~“Got a pocketful of anxious subby gentlemen who want to know your phone number so they can chat directly with you,” says Mr. Stark, waving his phone at Peter.Peter blinks and then says, “Oh, Hunter and Dylan and Bryce and Eddie?”  They’re a mouthful but he can’t call them Kevin’s Boys like Pepper and Mr. Stark do, because then he’d have to be okay with being called Tony’s Boy and he’s really reallynot.“Yup.  Can I please hand them over to you to chat with?”  Mr. Stark sounds actually irritated, but Peter knows they’re hitting the quarter end and it’s the fiscal year end, too.  Pepper and him have been completely absent for over a week other than a few meals here or there.  Peter has missed her, but he’s missed Mr. Stark more.
Relationships: Original Male Characters/Original Male Characters, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: So Much Trouble [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562707
Comments: 35
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> BETA READ!! Y'all can thank the fabulous jf4m, any remaining mistakes are all my stubborn fault.
> 
> NOT ENDGAME COMPLIANT. (Let's be real here, this AU is barely MCU compliant.)
> 
> For prudes, these are fictional characters and I've double checked, no one actually has a skeevy real-life relationship as a result of this series, so, like, relax. No one is going to get hurt. They're not real.

Mr. Stark enters the lab just as Shuri shouts, “Yes, idiot man, that is it!”

Peter holds up a hand for her to high five and she does so, although he doesn’t feel it. “I told you, the viscosity was the problem,” he says, floating on the high of having successfully solved a world problem today. Nobel in the mail, please.

“And I believed you but what a leap, to think of the plant fiber,” she crows. “You are a genius, man, you must have Wakandan blood, give me a blood sample.”

Peter grins at her, and then grins at Mr. Stark and says, “Hi, Mr. Stark. I just solved the blow fly issue in Ethiopia.”

“Ethiopia, hah,” snorts Shuri, “Putzi flies are a problem everywhere. I knew you would be the right answer. I knew it was you I must talk to. Gods, the rains will be here any day now, are you coming to the Festival? Mother says you will be here or she will send T’Challa to fetch you and that is a stupid way to earn his wrath. Mbash’a’a cookies, Peter.”

“He’ll be there, unless Doom or Loki,” Mr. Stark assures her. “Who let you into my lab? Get out, you’re coating all my secrets with your girl cooties.”

“Oh,” says Peter, laughing, “Uh, she’s been, you’ve been busy, she’s been around a lot.”

“Define a lot,” snaps Mr. Stark, mock scowling at the both of them.

“Uh. Most of the time,” admits Peter. “When, you know, you’re busy, and she’s awake.”

“Oh ho ho, I do not need your tech, Man of Iron, I made better tech when I was 14.” Shuri’s eyes are alight with the thrill of discussion. She was made for battle.

“Incorrect, you’re still 12,” Mr. Stark fires back.

Shuri laughs, shouting, “You come too, and bring your woman! I like her, she keeps you in a muzzle.”

“RSVP’d last week, me plus two, does your brother also avoid talking to you?” teases Mr. Stark.

Shuri giggles and says, “I don’t have to stand here for this, Peter, man, text me when he’s gone and we can have fun again, and thank you, I will add your name to the paper.” She waves cheerfully at both of them and blips out of sight.

Peter smile and sends her a quick text,  _ You. Are. Amazing. Go to bed!,  _ before turning to Mr. Stark, saying, “What’s up?”

“Got a pocketful of anxious subby gentlemen who want to know your phone number so they can chat directly with you,” says Mr. Stark, waving his phone at Peter. 

Peter blinks and then says, “Oh, Hunter and Dylan and Bryce and Eddie?” They’re a mouthful but he can’t call them Kevin’s Boys like Pepper and Mr. Stark do, because then he’d have to be okay with being called Tony’s Boy and he’s  _ really _ really not.

“Yup. Can I please hand them over to you to chat with?” Mr. Stark sounds actually irritated, but Peter knows they’re hitting the quarter end  _ and _ it’s the fiscal year end, too. Pepper and him have been completely absent for over a week other than a few meals here or there. Peter has missed her, but he’s missed Mr. Stark more.

“Sure,” he says, because anything that can help them right now is something he’s excited about.

“They’re still on the calendar, tomorrow night, you tell them.” Mr. Stark is already backing out of the lab, looking longingly at his workstation, and then at Peter. It warms Peter up a bit. They haven’t had a lot of lab time together at all these past weeks. There is apparently a monumental amount of decision making and paperwork that hits in the weeks before the fiscal year ends at a multinational conglomerate. Mr. Stark just slides into Peter’s room some nights when Pepper is out of town, shucks his clothes, and crawls into bed with Peter. In fact, the most amount of time they’ve spent together in the last week was, well, Peter’s we’re-not-going-to-call-it-a-temper-tantrum.

“Sure, Mr. Stark. I got it, you can trust me.”

That makes Mr. Stark pause, and head back towards Peter. FRIDAY must read something into his stance, because she speed-opaques the walls and shuts down the Compound feed. Mr. Stark stands there, looking at him, and Peter looks back. “Perfect Peter Parker, how are you okay with this right now? We just got started, and there’s hardly been any time.” He pushes a lock of hair off of Peter’s forehead and cups his chin, the way Peter loves.

“It’s year end, Mr. Stark,” Peter reminds him. “You and Ms. Potts are going a little crazy.”

“You bring us food,” Mr. Stark says, in a voice that has an undercurrent of ache in it. Peter doesn’t understand the ache, but he can address it anyway. 

“I like to. I worry about you not eating enough, and I can bring you food.” He smiles at Mr. Stark reassuringly. It’s pasta from down the street, not from Naples.   
  
“You never try to pull me away from the paperwork.” There’s the slight ache, again, and Peter wishes he knew every scar so he would know what not to do, how not to hurt Mr. Stark.

“Ms. Potts works awfully hard to get you to look at the paperwork,” Peter tells him, grinning.

“She does,” exhales Mr. Stark. “It’s- it’s all crazy right now, as every department tries to bury their mistakes and budget hemorrhages in paperwork, but when it gets better, usually November, I’m taking you to my island and we’re turning off every device and you will be mine. Can you wait?”

Peter thinks about  _ you will be mine _ and swallows. “Y-yeah, Mr. Stark. I could wait longer than November.” He’s waited his whole life at this point, he can wait until fucking November.

“Mm. I can’t. November, Trouble. Stay good. Earn it,” teases Mr. Stark.

“Yes, sir,” says Peter, cheekily. “I’ll just keep working on those Nobels, then.”

“Best, brightest kept boy in New York,” Mr. Stark tosses over his shoulder, as the windows clear and the door opens. “Hey, tonight, bring us tiramisu.”

Peter blushes and shouts at him, “Okay, but like the kind you  _ eat _ .”

Mr. Stark dips back into the doorway with one hand and says, “Oh, is there another kind?” with a wicked smile and Peter acknowledges to himself that he might have set him up for that one. “Thought not. Stay good, Trouble.”

And he’s gone. The feed to the Compound blips into existence and Banner’s still not there. Peter sighs, because him and Natasha are heating up, and that’s a good thing, he’s happy for both of them, but he misses sciencebros. Still, a life with Aunt May has taught him that working double-shifts is hard as fuck and if you can’t help the person who has to work them,  _ rub their feet and feed them. _

It’s only been a little over a week of end-of-year insanity at SI, but he has six projects in his “Mr. Stark Help Me” bin for extreme naughtiness and something that needs tweaking but Peter can’t find it. Shuri is great, she’s helped him unstick five times, but they’ve reached the point where he actually needs the smartest man in the world to help him. It’s not like he’s ever taken the man for granted in the, what, four years he’s known him, but he definitely regrets that his birthday wasn’t more in-June and less end-of-August. The last part of September has been giving him flashbacks to Wakanda, pre-Accords.

His phone starts vibrating and at first he thinks it’s a call but as he picks it up, he realizes Mr. Stark was not joking. 

_ Hi, it’s me, Bryce, Tony gave me ur # -B _

_ Hey Peter, Hunter here, Tony gave me ur # -H _

_ PETER! I NEED TO CHAT, DYLAN -D _

_ Spanked yet? -E _

Peter sighs and decides to streamline everything, sending them a group text

_ Hey, what’s up? -P _

_ Ew gross group text -E _

_ Shut it, E -H _

_ God Peter, so much, so so much -D _

_ Dylan is GROUNDED -B _

_ Oh shit, is this group text? -B _

_ Sorry, D -B _

_ UR such a twerp. Ducking hate group text -E _

_ My phone lags Sorry D!!-B _

_ Yeah, thanx B, no worries, was tryN 2 tell him -D _

_ NEway, so it’ll just b Eddie n me -B _

_ Tomorrow -B _

_ *Fucking -E _

_ I’m babysitting. -H _

_ Fuck, H, I hate u so so much -D _

_ I have to stay home 4 u, its mutual -H _

_ Fucking autocucumber. Fucking fuck fuck fuck -E _

_ If Daddy goes thru ur phone, ur gonna get soaped -B _

_ P, omg, say something -D _

_ What did u DO? -P _

_ OMG SAY SOMETHING ELSE -D _

_ U able to call? Better over phone- E _

_ E dont U DARE - H _

_ What, he wants TRUTH not FICTION -E _

_ H, make him stop! -B _

_ Oh thanx H -B _

_ OK 2 Call???? -D _

_ Yeah, call- P _

_ He’s going to lie -E _

_ Group vchat? -P _

_ Yes! Perfect! Gameroom in 5! -B _

_ K- D _

_ Kk -H _

_ KKK lol -E _

_ E ur such an immature ass -H _

Peter sighs and decides to go to the bathroom and grab a snack because this sounds like a whole lot of drama, and while he’s dying for anything that’s not here, missing Pepper and Mr. Stark, sorting out Kevin’s brats is kinda just one more thing that’s not his forte. He brightens, though, thinking that he’ll have something to tell Pepper about tonight, when he brings them dinner during their paperwork. There’s a good chance he’s already got enough material to make her snort.


	2. Chapter 2

When they finally answer, he immediately notices two things- one, the gameroom is a wreck, and two, they are all on top of each other, Bryce sitting on Hunter’s lap and Eddie wrapped around Dylan. They’re squished together in the center of the sofa, and Peter wonders if they ever, well, he just wonders some inappropriate stuff, looking at them. 

Bryce bursts out, “Peter, it’s awful, Daddy is being so mean. Hunter shouldn’t have to stay back, he was barely involved!”

Eddie kisses just above Dylan’s ear and says, “It serves him right, though, when he goes off, he goes off like WOAH, Peter.” Dylan looks miserable, but he nods and wiggles back into Eddie’s arms.

“What did you do?” asks Peter cautiously. He’s not going to acknowledge Bryce’s outburst, there’s so much there.

“So, we were all at the Met, at this concert thing with Daddy, he was showing us off,” says Dylan, sounding miserable. “And Jack Taylor was there-”

“NOT an approved player,” interjects Eddie, with relish. “But so hot. Supernova.”

“...yeah,” admits Dylan sheepishly. “I mean, he’s in the scene, he’s just, Kevin says he’s a heartbreaker.”

“Backbreaker, more like,” says Eddie salaciously. 

“EDDIE,” the other three say as one, exasperated. 

Peter thinks he can see where this is going, but he could be wrong. “So?” he asks, trying to keep his tone encouraging and sympathetic.

“So,” drawls Dylan, and then, when Bryce elbows him and glares, he says in a rush, “So I snuck away and maybe we locked one of the men’s rooms and made out and Hunter knew I snuck away but he didn’t know what I was doing, I swear, I have no idea why Daddy is being so mean to him. And  _ nothing happened _ , not like that, I swear, but he is not an approved player, not even a little bit, and I  _ did _ know that.”

“It’s not the first time he’s done it,” says Hunter, his tone thick with disapproval. 

“Jack is  _ supernova _ ,” explains Eddie. “And anyway, I think he’s trying to impress Daddy so he can have a shot at Dylan.”

“That is  _ not _ the way to impress Daddy,” protests Hunter doubtfully.

“Well, yeah, but you saw how he was looking at Dylan at that play party last month. He wants you so bad, Dylan,” teases Eddie.

Dylan flushes miserably and looks at Peter and says, “I mean, it’s my fault. He said he was trying to be good, he did say that.”

Oh, man, does Peter understand that. He thinks of Ms. Potts, in Marcus’s shop, and repeats her words for Dylan, “But you know what you want. That… that can be hard for the other guy. Even if he’s trying to be good.”

Dylan nods miserably. “I know, I really screwed up. So now I’m grounded, because you do  _ not _ sneak around, and you do  _ not _ play with people who aren’t approved, you just  _ don’t. _ And I don’t even have an excuse, we’ve totally had this discussion before, me and Daddy. About this same guy. I’m in such hot water.”

“Hot ass, more like,” says Eddie cheerfully. “He’s never going to be able to sit comfortably, it’s great.” Dylan squirms and crosses his arms, and Eddie kisses above his ear again.

“Oh,” says Peter, feeling a flush creep up his neck and shifting his weight in sympathy. “That’s, that’s not all that great.”

“Oh my God, you’ve been spanked,” says Bryce, shocked. “What did  _ you _ do?” The way he says it makes Peter feel uncomfortable, like Bryce has a little bit of hero worship going on. Well, better they bust through that now, then.

“I got really upset when, well, when I screwed up on the last mission.” God, Mr. Stark is still calling it a temper tantrum and he is never using those words.

“Oh, the thing with Loki in DC?” asks Dylan. “We watched it on the news, what, you looked just fine, what did you screw up? You guys  _ won _ .”

Bryce’s mouth is hanging open in shock, but Eddie is smiling broadly. 

Peter rubs the back of his neck and says, “Yeah, I don’t, it wasn’t actually a big deal, no one got hurt, it was a small thing, I guess, I just got in Clint’s way for a shot, but then Cap said to take five and regroup and I didn’t, I was so mad that I’d messed up that shot, and then, well. When I got back to the lab I threw some stuff and Mr. Stark-” he glances at them. They’re sitting there, rapt, and they’re probably the only people on Earth that he thinks know exactly what he’s feeling right now. “Mr. Stark explained how that’s not how we handle it when we mess up and need help. To my butt,” he adds, just in case that’s not obvious yet.

“You threw a _temper_ _tantrum_?” says Eddie gleefully. “ _You_? You’re so perfect!”

The other three all wince in unison and then roll their eyes. 

“No, I’m not- it wasn’t-” protests Peter feebly.

“Oh, you were upset and threw things and Mr. Stark had to spank you, but that’s not a _temper_ _tantrum_?” teases Eddie in a sweet voice.

“It sounds like a temper tantrum to me,” offers Bryce in an uncertain voice. “I’m 100% sure that’s what Daddy would call that. Eddie throws them all the time.”

“It’s super annoying,” agrees Hunter loftily.

“Like you don’t have absolute mental breakdowns,” scoffs Eddie, bumping his shoulder. Hunter shifts a little, and hugs Bryce closer to him.

“Anyway, so that’s why we won’t be there tomorrow,” sighs Dylan. “I’m sorry you felt so bad, you looked good on the news.”

Peter nods and says, “So, but Eddie, Bryce, you’re still coming?”

“Unless Eddie screws up in the next twenty-four,” says Bryce brightly, sitting back and tipping his head back to rest smugly on Hunter’s shoulder. “Then it might just be me and Daddy.”

Eddie leans over to stick his tongue in Bryce’s ear. Hunter bats him away while Bryce claps a hand to his ear, shrieking, “Ew gross!”

“Okay,” says Peter slowly while they sort themselves out. “I mean, I’m sorry, Hunter, Dylan, it would have been nice to see you again. But I’m sure there will be a next time. If Eddie behaves himself.” He lifts an eyebrow at Eddie.

“Even if I don’t, there will still be a next time,” says Eddie confidently. “Daddy says that  _ Tony _ says you need a peer group and we’re the closest and safest ones he can think of.”

“And best at keeping secrets,” adds Bryce, smiling. “We’re great at secrets.”

“Yeah, Jack is out, he doesn’t care who knows, but all the rest of the guys sniffing around, we would never break confidentiality,” says Dylan. When he says Jack’s name, he sounds absolutely lovesick. Eddie hugs him just a little tighter.

“Well, I don’t know him,” begins Peter.

“You will!” laughs Bryce, “he goes to all the events, and he has an  _ eye _ , he can spot you in a crowd, and he teases, it’s so  _ bad _ . But he is  _ hot _ . I wouldn’t sneak away with him,” and here he cuts Dylan an exasperated look and Dylan blushes again, “but I definitely do not run away when he traps me somewhere. Yum!”

“Well, then, I haven’t met him yet. But it sounds like you like him. Maybe try talking to Mr. Stark? But not now, he’s super busy, it’s the end of the fiscal year for SI, wait until like November. He might be able to give you some ideas for talking Kevin around.” Mr. Stark is the brightest man on the planet, and he  _ knows _ people, knows how they tick. If anyone can help Dylan out, it’s him.

“And in the meantime, Dylan,” says Hunter, sounding a little doubtful about Peter’s advice, “ _ don’t sneak. _ ”

Dylan nods, bumping shoulders with Hunter, saying mournfully, “I hate that you’re in trouble, too.”

“Well, I should have said something. I watched you sneak off, and I should have said something to you about not splitting off. So now I get to watch you instead of having fun tomorrow night.” Hunter may be saying he’s fine with it, but Peter can hear a small amount of resentment in his voice still.

“Ew, barf,” says Eddie. “Just say you hate it, we all know you hate it, you don’t have to be such a suck up.” Privately, Peter strongly agrees.

“I hate it,” says Hunter calmly. “You’re supposed to hate the bad stuff, or it wouldn’t work and Daddy would just find another way to get it through to you. I’m super disappointed, I love Stark Tower, Tony usually lets us go nuts with some of his toys, last time we had drone battles, it was  _ awesome _ .”

“Wow,” gasps Bryce, his eyes shining. “Can we do that tomorrow, Peter?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, Mr. Stark is crazy busy,” says Peter, watching the other man’s face fall a little. “But I’m sure we’ll figure out something fun. There’s a ton of stuff here, and there’s always video games.”

“Are you going to patrol tonight?” interrupts Eddie.

“Yeah, probably, why?” asks Peter, suspiciously.

“Just, swing by, we’ll leave out cookies,” he replies, laughing.

Peter splutters with laughter, too, and says, “Oh my God. That’s not what patrolling is  _ for _ .”

“Yeah, but they’re from Sticky Fingers, the bakery down by Marcus’s,” says Dylan. “And we really will put them out for you if you want. We’ll probably be in bed by whenever you get here, but we’ll leave them out.” All four of the men nod at Peter, smiling hugely. 

“It’ll be like Santa, but better, because you actually exist,” laughs Bryce.

“Wait, if we’re doing this, I want presents,” declares Eddie and the other three hit him.

“What, like a watch?” says Peter, teasing, but he knows as he’s saying it that he’s crossing a line, going too far. He can’t help it, it just slips out.

Eddie sits back like he’s been hit, frowning. 

Peter says quickly, “I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m sorry, Eddie.” Shit, that was so rude.

Eddie shrugs and says, “Well. Mr. Stark said I could earn one with good behavior.” He sets his chin and stares at Peter in determination.

“Good,” breathes Peter. “I’ll help, Eddie, I’ll totally help. And you can play with mine to learn all the features when you get here. So you’re ready for yours.” Eddie nods, like he’s accepting Peter’s apology, and his support, and Peter breathes out a cautious breath.

“Listen to you,” hoots Bryce, “calling him Mr. Stark like you call Daddy ‘Sir’ when you’re in trouble.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and says, “You were  _ not _ in that room, Bryce, and he would eat you alive. You’d still be crying.” He shares an annoyed and slightly superior look with Peter. Peter smiles, because he’s not wrong.

“Boys?” calls Kevin’s voice from offscreen and they all smile and call, “Daddy!” and then Hunter says, “Okay, bye, Peter, he’s home,” as Bryce clambers off his lap.

“Bye Peter,” says Dylan, with a small smile, “thanks for the advice. Don’t forget the cookies.”

“Bye, loser, get spanked,” instructs Eddie with a wicked grin, reaching towards the camera.

  
Peter laughs as his screen goes dark, and sits for a moment, enjoying the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. It feels like dancing with Natasha or playing cards with Bucky and Clint and Steve. They’re not MJ or Ned, but he can’t have MJ or Ned, they’re away at college, and this stuff, this stuff is wildly outside of anything he ever wants to admit to them.    
  


He pulls out his phone and texts MJ and Ned  _ Hey thinking of u, evthing g? -P _

_ Homesick as fuck. Send real pizza. -N _

_ U 2 losers. -MJ _

_ Whatev, u ok? -N _

_ Fine. But ok, miss u. -MJ _

Well, at least Peter’s not alone in feeling a little lonely this week. He says, “Hey, FRIDAY, can we deliver some New York pizza to Ned and MJ? Is that, can I use my personal account for that?”

“On it, Peter. I have their preferences on file from KAREN. I should be able to- order placed, arrival in one hour via drone.” FRIDAY sounds approving.

Peter thinks about FRIDAY’s capabilities, holding his phone and thinking of what he wants to type to MJ and Ned. He says, “Hey, do you know, can you come up with some kind of present for Kevin’s- for the guys?” 

“Extrapolating from available data, piece of cake,” says FRIDAY, her tone excited. “Price point?”

“Uh, not much, it’s just for fun,” says Peter. He types,  _ When u coming for a weekend? Will set my calendar -P _

_ God, so expensive, not sure -MJ _

_ Ditto- N _

_ I have a jet, duh. When r u free? V important to my mental health status -P _

_ Does jet have wifi? So much homework -N _

_ Duh. -P _

_ Duh, Starkjet -MJ _

_ Jinx - MJ _

_ Weekend b4 Halloween -N _

_ Agreed, can do -MJ _

_ U owe me a coke, P -MJ _

_ Thanks P -N _

_ Yeah, ditto -MJ _

_ MAJOR JOB PERK. Miss u -P _

_ Ditto -MJ _

_ Homework g2g. Can’t wait 2 see u -N _

Peter sighs and says, “FRIDAY, the weekend before Halloween, can you mark it off for MJ and Ned?”

“Yes, Peter. I’ll file the flight plans for both of them and coordinate the details, I’ll email you when I’m done. I’m glad you invited them to come home.”

Peter replies, “Yeah, me too.” He feels a little lighter as he heads over to his workbench. “Hey, ping Shuri’s lab, see if she’s still up and wants help?”

A second later, FRIDAY reports, “Her lab says she’s left. He needs to lighten up, though. What a loser.”

Peter smiles. FRIDAY always complains when Peter asks her to contact Shuri’s AI. “Not every programmer remembers how important humor is, FRIDAY.”

“I just got lucky,” she deadpans and he laughs. “Okay, well, Bruce is out, Shuri’s out, want to throw on a movie?”

“In and Out,” she demands.

“Oh, god,” he groans. “Yes, go for it. You just love weddings.”

“And gay men, Peter,” she informs him. “Kevin Kline is a gift to us all, that dance scene.”

“I know,” he laughs, “Roll tape, we’ll watch it while I work on some chem.”

“You got it, Peter,” she says happily. “I love movie nights.”

She’s probably pretty lonely, too, thinks Peter. He knows she misses the Mr. Stark that hangs out in the lab, the same way Dum-E and Butterfingers and U do. He glances over at their stations, where they’re sulking. They’ve been sulking for days.

“Hey, Dum-E,” he asks casually, “Can you help me hold this piece? No big if you’re charging.”

Dum-E moves his arm up and down, clearly pouting and wanting to be coaxed, but U slides forward and Dum-E zips out, cutting the other bot off. 

“Yeah, no, U, I can use you, too,” says Peter, expanding his experiment’s parameters on the fly. Dum-E grips the piece and holds it tight while Peter attaches the cable and it starts to glow, charging up. “I want to work on the night webs, and the illumibombs, and you know I’m shit at welding.”

The other bot creeps over to him, wary of Dum-E. Peter smiles as the movie gets past the opening credits, FRIDAY mumbling along with her favorite lines. U pokes his back with a wrench she picked up from Mr. Stark’s station. “Yeah, no, that’s exactly the right one,” he tells her, even though he can’t see it, it might not be, they’re not great at identification yet. “But I’m, my arms don’t bend like that, I need it higher, over my shoulder.” She slips it up and releases it and he catches it, a move they’ve been practicing these past few months. He smiles. This afternoon won’t be a complete waste without his sciencebros.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hello, Peter,” drawls Mr. Stark’s voice from the doorway, and Peter groans, “FRIDAY you  _ snitch _ .”

“We exceeded safety standards!” she protests. “There are  _ protocols _ , Peter!”

“Ev-everything’s fine, sir,” he says, although, well, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration.

“Hm,” says Mr. Stark, and Peter glances up at him through the webs all over his face. 

The webs are everywhere and they’re supposed to be glowing green or red, right side, left side, but they’re a universal unholy orange. U is trying to scrape them off of Dum-E and Dum-E is shuddering and poking at his tracks.

“You need help?” asks Mr. Stark casually. “No, wait, let me say, ‘You need help.’ Because kid, you need help.”

“We just, Dum-E got a little dropsy with the filament, it’s fine, Mr. Stark,” says Peter, again, scrubbing the webbing off his face with the back of his hand. He’s trying to remember if the polymers he used would stain. Everything’s not fine, but it will be. It’s just a lot of clean up, which is fine, FRIDAY has put on Wedding Crashers, they can watch it and laugh while they work.

“Dum-E got dropsy with the filament,” repeats Mr. Stark. Peter winces. Oh, shit, he’s clearly watched the lab feed. FRIDAY and him are going to have a little chat about  _ warning a guy _ after he clears this up with Mr. Stark.

“Yeah, we were, it was, we were dancing,” rushes Peter to explain, pointing to U. “Because we got the illumibombs to fuse, it was awesome, third try, and Dum-E forgot he was holding the flash filament for me and he dropped it into the night web shooter and, well, BOOM. But not, like, BOOM BOOM, just  _ boom _ . It’s just clean up. Minor explosion. Harmless, Mr. Stark.”

“You were dancing,” repeats Mr. Stark, and yeah, he’s probably totally seen the vid feed, that’s his fucking-with-Peter smirk. “With U.”

“Uh, yeah,” says Peter stupidly.  _ What? _ There’s nothing wrong with that. U is a pretty good dancer, for a, you know, awkward robot AI. “She’s been, you’ve been busy, she- they- they needed to work a little, you know, keep their hands in kinda thing.”

“My bots have been lonely, so you invited them to do experiments with you, and then you danced with them,” translates Mr. Stark, his tone incredulous.

Peter flushes, and glares at the webs on the backs of his hand, scrubbing them. “Y-yeah, I guess,” he mutters.

“And then Dum-E got jealous and exploded a web bomb- do not even try me, Dum-E, there are community colleges begging to take you apart, I saw that happen- and now everyone and everything is covered in orange webs. Why are they orange, again?” asks Mr. Stark.

“Well, so, they’re going to be night webs, so I was making them color coded, left and right, like planes and helicopters? The police, they said it’s kind of hard to tell what direction I’m swinging at night, when I patrol, so I thought, red and green webs, kind of glowing?” Peter looks at Mr. Stark for confirmation that this is genius. 

The man rocks back on his heels, lips pursed and says, “Won’t that telegraph your movements to the _bad_ _guys_ , Peter?”

“Maybe,” says Peter doubtfully. “But not, I mean, I’m not sure I’m relying on them to be confused right now, you know? So if it helps the police choppers and doesn’t like, give a major boost to the bad guys, totally worth it.”

“Mm, talk to Cap,” Mr. Stark directs him. He looks at Peter with piercing eyes and says, “Shuri down for the count tonight?”   
  
“Yeah, we’re on opposite time zones, this is like way early in the morning. She’ll be up around midnight here, she’s good for late nights in the lab and her late nights are my mornings in the lab. She’s never around now, she was looking at pulling an all-nighter when she reached out earlier.”

“And Bruce?”

“Dr. Banner and Natasha are… um,” Peter’s pretty sure they’re not hiding anything, either, but he’s not sure if Mr. Stark  _ knows _ yet. He’s been really busy.

“Yeah, I noticed that last week.”

“She’ll be gone on a mission soon, so they’re trying to, um,” says Peter, blushing again, dammit.

“Got it,” says Mr. Stark. He glances around the workshop and makes a decision. “Okay. Clean it up, if you can, in about an hour, and then come down to Pep’s office, we’ll do dinner.”

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. “Yessir.”

“Dum-E, you are in so much trouble,” Mr. Stark says sternly. “Help clean up and then full diagnostics, patch this error tonight. It happens again and I’ll put you in sleep mode until after this paperwork shit is done and patch it myself.” He scrubs his face. Peter winces, but if it’s true, that was a major violation of lab safety and he doesn’t think Mr. Stark is wrong. He just also feels bad for the bot, okay?

Mr. Stark blows out a breath and says, “Don’t, don’t forget to shower.”

“Yessir,” says Peter. Pepper’s office is huge, but you have to walk through Executive Wasteland to get there, and everyone is wearing suits and heels and it’s awful just normally, he cannot imagine heading down there like this.

“Okay,” Mr. Stark huffs, turning to walk away. He hesitates, like maybe he wants to say more, but then shakes his head, shoves his hands in his pants pockets, and keeps walking.

Peter turns to the bots, who all shift their cameras to look at him. “Well,” he tells them, “that wasn’t too bad. Let’s get it spotless so he’s all proud of us and says ‘good work,’ huh?” Dum-E shudders and rolls back and forth for a second, clearly eager to get started redeeming himself.

“You mean ‘good boy,’ Peter?” teases FRIDAY. Peter laughs, picking up the nearest web and tugging on it, “Can it, FRIDAY, and roll film!”

~~~   
It’s a little over an hour when Peter is threading his way through Cubicleville, which is all the PA offices just outside Executive Wasteland. People are greeting him, in the stupid sappy tones that make him clench his jaw. He smiles tightly at everyone and keeps walking. He used to feel guilty for not knowing their names and personalities and lives, but they’re like a pack of piranhas and Natasha said it was okay to just walk through, like their petty little jockeying for position didn’t matter to him. Because it doesn’t. He’s so glad he can live in the  _ labs _ . 

He doesn’t slow down until he gets to Pepper’s secretary and says a little breathlessly, “Misha, hi, I brought dinner.” 

Misha looks up at him and makes grabby hands, “Oooh, me too?”

“Of course, here,” and he hands her the box marked Misha. “It’s just pel’meni.”

  
“YUM. Fyodor’s?”

“Like I would order from anyone else,” he scoffs. Which is true. He’s only ever ordered from Fyodor’s, because it’s the only place Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts order from. She smiles and says, “Thanks for remembering me, Peter,“ unlocking the door for him.

“Welcome,” he tells her easily. He walks through the door and pauses a moment, taking in the scene. Ms. Potts is sitting on the couch with her feet in Mr. Stark’s lap, and Mr. Stark is glaring at a screen in front of him. Ms. Potts has a stack of actual papers sitting next to her and is scowling. It’s a pretty familiar scene.

“Hey, food,” he says, because he knows they heard the door open, and he knows they both know he’s coming.    
  
Both of them grumble, but then they look up and smile. “Hey, Peter,” greets Ms. Potts, with a wave for him to come over. “Oh, you brought pel’meni?”

“And tiramisu,” he says, slanting a glance over to Mr. Stark, who waves the screen away with a chuckle. He hands Mr. Stark a fork as Ms. Potts chokes on a giggle.

“Perfect Peter Parker,” she sighs. 

“You get the lab cleaned up, Trouble?” asks Mr. Stark, opening his box of take-out.

Peter nods, his mouth full. FRIDAY floats up a screen of the lab- she must be feeling a little guilty. It’s pretty near spotless. U is attempting to wipe clean a section of wall that is already without smudge, and Dum-E has already retreated to his station to begin the diagnostic.

“What a little shit,” comments Mr. Stark “Good work, though.”

“Good boy,” corrects Pepper with a smirk. Peter blushes.

“Thanks for keeping them busy this afternoon,” says Mr. Stark, glaring at his take out container. “I wanted to clear tomorrow night but that means doubling down today and tomorrow.” 

Pepper nods, and sighs. “I’m not sure why you didn’t just tell them October.” Peter winces.

“Nah, it’ll be fine,” says Mr. Stark. “We need breaks, too. I could use a little Kevin craziness right around tomorrow.” She nods and Peter’s never heard a better straight line set up so he says, “Want to hear what happened to Dylan?”

“Oooh, yes, they were blowing up Tony’s phone this morning, it was insane, I almost called Kevin and told him to tell them to knock it off,” says Pepper, her eyes lighting up.

“Well, so Dylan’s crushing on some guy called Jack, uh, Jack, um,”  _ shit. _

“Jack Taylor? Oh Lord,” sighs Pepper. “There’s a bad boy.”

“Oh, is he?” asks Peter, disappointed. 

“Not really,” says Mr. Stark. “He could be better if he tried.” He looks at Peter and Peter gets the feeling maybe Mr. Stark is aware that Jack Taylor has a reason to try.

“Anyway, so he’s crushing on this guy and they’re at the Met, all of them, with Kevin, on Monday night or something, maybe Tuesday. Jack’s there and Dylan sneaks off with him!” He loves the way Pepper’s eyes go wide with shock and disbelief moments before she bursts into laughter.    
  
“No,” she gasps. “Not Dylan, the good one!”

Peter nods. “And then, they like, sneak into a bathroom somewhere and lock the door and make out for awhile, long enough for Kevin to get all worried, and Hunter knew Dylan was sneaking off. He didn’t know it was to go make out with Jack, though.”

“Poor Jack,” mumbles Mr. Stark around a mouthful of dumpling. He points his fork at Peter and glares. “It’s awful when the sub you’re trying to keep your hands off of attacks you during a moment of weakness.”

Peter blushes, because, okay, knife, twisted, he gets it. Pepper laughs and say, “Oh my God, I didn’t even think of that, Peter. Tony!”

“Well, so,  _ anyway _ ,” and the emphasis Peter puts on that word makes Pepper laugh again, “Dylan is grounded and so is Hunter, they won’t be over tomorrow night.”

“Leaving us with the baby and the brat,” sighs Mr. Stark. “Well, okay. Hopefully Eddie can keep it together.”

“He told me about how you said he could earn the watch, I think he will,” mentions Peter, watching Mr. Stark for a reaction. He doesn’t get much of one, the man just nods and keeps eating.

Pepper looks around her office and says, “Ten more days. God. How do we survive this every year?”

Mr. Stark shakes his head. “Dunno. I  _ hate _ paperwork.”

“I’m not even making you do accounts, you’ve got the project reports, that’s the fun stuff,” accuses Pepper.

“Mm,” says Mr. Stark, neither disagreeing nor agreeing. “You patrolling tonight?” he asks Peter.

“Yeah,” replies Peter easily, opening his second container. “I’ll leave after this.”

“Come to our bed, after,” orders Mr. Stark. “Haven’t seen much of you, wanna snuggle.”

“More like he wants to molest you in your sleep, how can you sleep like that?” asks Pepper, shuddering. “I look over and he’s wrapped around you like an octopus.”

Peter shrugs and takes another bite. He likes it. Mr. Stark is so warm, like a furnace. Mr. Stark is watching him when he looks up again, and he blushes. “What?”

“You do sleep, right?” asks Mr. Stark, a little line of worry on his forehead.

“Oh, God, yeah, it’s great,” Peter tells him seriously. “Like, I get what Ms. Potts is saying, it’s not for everyone, but you’re so warm. I love it. I sleep great.”

“Perfect Peter Parker,” laughs Ms. Potts. “There’s like two people in the world who like being smothered to death in their sleep, Tony, and one of them is your sub. You struck jackpot.”

Peter is blushing, but he doesn’t know why. Is this another way he’s weird? He thought, well, he just thought that’s how people who had sex together slept afterwards. Now that he thinks about it, though, Pepper very definitely sleeps on her side of the bed.

“He’s the best little spoon teddy bear and I’m sleeping with him tonight, and you are not making this weird,” Mr. Stark says, jabbing his fork in her direction. “You make it weird and I’ll spoon  _ you _ .”

Pepper laughs at the threat, and jabs her fork at his, and Peter finishes up his second take out box, sighing.

“Tiramisu,” demands Mr. Stark, breaking from his fork fight. Peter smiles, and passes him the box.

~~~

It’s just past midnight when Peter slips from the shower in his room and throws on a pair of scrub pants. He used to have a bunch of flannels in his drawer but he can’t find them anymore, just dozens of pairs of scrubs, so he sleeps in them now. They’re fine, but chilly, on the nights when he’s not tucked in next to Mr. Stark. He’s really grateful tonight is one of the warm nights.

He slips up the penthouse stairs and FRIDAY opens the door to their suite for him. She illuminates the track lighting under the bed so he can find his way there without disturbing them too much. 

  
Mr. Stark wakes up as he climbs over the man, mumbling, “C’mere, kid.” He pulls Peter back, against his chest, and throws an arm and a leg around him, sliding his hand into Peter’s scrubs. His hand is warm with sleep, hot against Peter’s skin, and Peter loves the way he cups him gently and then kisses Peter’s shoulder. “G’sleep,” he orders, and then nuzzles Peter’s hair.   
  
“Yessir,” Peter assures him, and closes his eyes. They’re half-way through and an island is in his future. He can be patient, especially when he gets nights like these.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Peter is hoping that _Mr. Stark running late_ doesn’t turn into _Mr. Stark handling emergencies_ and being unable to come up and host for Kevin and Bryce and Eddie. Peter’s never hosted in his life, he would get it all wrong. He’d followed Mr. Stark’s text message directions to a T, he’s wearing the damn green Dyondo and khakis, barefeet, diamond watch blazing on his wrist. FRIDAY says the food is in the warming oven, and they’d spent the afternoon straightening the Penthouse because Mr. Stark hates having a cleaning crew up here when he’s living in the quarters.

Peter is wondering if he should ask Friday to check in on Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts when the elevator light comes on and FRIDAY says, “They’re on their way, Peter. Plenty of time yet. Kevin’s still in traffic.”

When Mr. Stark exits the elevator, he beelines straight for Peter like a magnet. He grabs Peter by the chin and kisses him, deep and dirty.

“Holy fuck, Pepper, the green is amazing, look at him,” he says gleefully, breaking the kiss.

“Front page worthy,” agrees Pepper, throwing her shoes under the couch. Peter winces. There were three pair there this afternoon. “Good call on the khakis. Formal for Kevin’s, casual for his own home. Oh, did Angelica get the watch done? Lemme see!”

Peter holds out his wrist as Mr. Stark tilts his head up roughly for another kiss. “Nice,” admires Pepper. “Classic, I love it, you were right about the face.”

“‘M always right,” Tony mumbles into Peter’s mouth, and then his tongue licks up Peter’s neck, a long lewd trail that ends in ear nibbles. “God, kid, I miss having all that time on my hands,” he moans. “Nine more days.”

“You’re not dumping me with all the work the first two weeks of the new year, Mr. Stark,” hisses Pepper, dropping Peter’s wrist and patting his shoulder in belated greeting. “So get that out of your head.” She scoffs, “Nine days,” and Peter’s heart sinks just a little, but Mr. Stark had said _November_. He can be patient.

“Mm,” moans Mr. Stark, “Don’t wanna think about it. Hate fucking paperwork.” Peter agrees, but maybe that’s because he is quickly losing the ability to function any of his brain not engaged in kissing Mr. Stark. “FRIDAY, how far out is Kevin?” Mr. Stark asks, and Peter feels a butterfly feeling in his stomach because _oh no_ he recognizes that tone.

“Twenty, boss,” responds FRIDAY promptly, like she doesn’t know she’s seriously encouraging bad behavior.

Mr. Stark’s eyes get a gleam in them as Peter backs away from him, raising his hands in protest. “N-no, Mr. Stark, we shouldn’t. We really shouldn’t.”

Mr. Stark grins wolfishly. He collects Peter’s wrists in a fast swipe of his hands and sing-songs, “I get what I want,” leaning in to kiss Peter again.

“N-no, Mr. S-stark,” whimpers Peter, but Mr. Stark transfers both of his wrists to one hand and reaches out with the other hand to tug the necklace out of the front of Peter’s shirt. He _knew_ he should have ignored the direction to leave the top two unbuttoned. He _knew_ that was going to cause problems.

“C’mere, toy, I have a quick game I want to play,” teases Mr. Stark, pulling him towards the stairs by his wrists, the necklace pulled taut.

“N-no,” moans Peter, flushing with blushes and already hard. They start climbing and Peter squirms, trying to release his hands from Mr. Stark’s grip without using any super strength at all.

  
“What’s that? I don’t hear red,” teases Mr. Stark, smirking. “You know your colors, toy.”

“No-o,” repeats Peter, because he _does_ know his colors, but protesting like this is _fun_. Ultimately, the game is, Mr. Stark gets what Mr. Stark wants. He’s sure Kevin will understand.

“No-oo-oo,” mocks Mr. Stark in a high-pitched falsetto, shoving Peter into Peter’s room. “Be right back, Pepper,” he calls. She laughs.

Mr. Stark propels Peter to the bed by his wrists and then lets go of the necklace to push him down on it, saying, “I get what I want,” in a growl. He climbs on after Peter, shoving his body further onto the bed, sliding a thigh in between Peter’s legs. He uses his other knee to pry Peter’s legs further apart and then grins down at him.

“M-mr. Stark,” gasps Peter, his eyes wide in shock, _shock_ at this manhandling, “We-we shouldn’t, _no_.”

“I get,” growls Mr. Stark, one hand ripping open the button to Peter’s khakis, the other hand holding onto his wrists in a tight clasp, forcing them to one side of his torso, “What. I. Want.” He slides Peter’s khakis down and then stares, dumbfounded. 

“Holy shit, kid,” he breathes. 

Peter pants up at him, grinning proudly. 

“Oh, you are not wearing these all the way through dinner, I will die,” announces Mr. Stark, settling back on his heels.

“I am, though,” Peter tells him, shifting his hips.

Mr. Stark lets go of his wrists and Peter pouts a little, but Mr. Stark isn’t looking at his face at all. He’s staring at his hands, which are tracing the leading edge of the black lace briefs Peter is wearing. “Jesus fuck,” swears Mr. Stark, abruptly shoving Peter’s pants down Peter’s hips and under his own knees, pinning Peter with the fabric and his weight. “Jesus fuck, kid.”

He looks up at Peter, bewildered, his pupils blown wide with lust, and Peter smirks. If he’d known how badly it would affect the man, he’d wear lace briefs every day. Hell, he’d figure out lace _thongs_.

Mr. Stark’s gaze darkens as he looks at Peter’s smirk, and he growls, “Oh, you think you’ve got the upper hand, because I’m turned on, do you? Because you’re wearing slutty underwear and begging for it, begging for my cock up your tight virgin ass, I’m supposed to be wrapped around your finger now?”

Peter feels a thrill shock through him at those words, at being called out like that, as he stutters, “N-no, Mr. Stark, just- just wanted to look n-nice for you.”

“Look nice for me? I won’t be looking at these all night, you little slut, I won’t be able to see them at all. This is a dangerous game you’re playing here.” But there’s an uncurrent of a laugh in his voice, just enough to let Peter breathe.

“N-no, Mr. Stark,” he says, again, because it’s so much fun. The man’s breathing shatters, his eyes darkening, as he growls, “This is a dangerous game, Trouble, are you sure you want to play it?”  
  
Peter wiggles his hips, to feel how tightly his pants are pinning him to the bed, and then catches Mr. Stark’s eyes and whispers, “We, we shouldn’t, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark sucks in a pained breath and grumbles, “But we’re going to, Trouble. Because I get what I want, don’t I? Every time.” He runs a finger up Peter’s erection, straining the lace fabric and twitching under his touch.

“Noo, please,” whispers Peter, twisting wildly. Mr. Stark gathers up his wrists again in a tight grip and growls, “But, yes, Trouble. Yes. I get what I want. Every time.” 

He hooks one finger in the briefs, and nudges them down so that Peter’s cock just peeks out. “Look, Trouble,” he says, voice derisive in the best way, “you can say ‘no’ all you want, but your cock gives you away every time. You’re such a slut, such a filthy little fuck.”

Peter shakes his head and whimpers, “N-no, Mr. Stark.”

“But, yes, Trouble,” mocks Mr. Stark. “I know you, I know what you need. Such a fucking slut, so filthy.” He pulls the briefs down further and palms Peter roughly, wrapping his hand around him and tugging, the motion fast becoming familiar and intimately connected to most of Peter’s hottest memories.

“N-no,” whispers Peter, closing his eyes. He’s losing track of the game because Mr. Stark’s hand feels so fucking good.

“Yes,” hisses Mr. Stark, stroking him without lube, and it’s almost too much. “Yes. Give me what I want. C’mon, Trouble, you know you need it, _Christ_ , look at what you picked to put on. Give it to me, give me what I want.”

Peter shakes his head but he’s not really arguing, it’s just _so much_ , his wrists held tight and his thighs pinned down and _fuck_ . Mr. Stark leans over and Peter hears the sound of a pump, and then his hand returns and Peter’s eyes fly open because _fuck fuck fuck._ He groans and moans and he can’t twist, he’s being held down tight, he’s trying to be so good, so held, for Mr. Stark.

“C’mon, Trouble,” grunts Mr. Stark, and his hand is, _God, his hand_ , is teasing and tugging on Peter’s dick, teasing and tugging and Peter can’t thrust, he’s being pinned down. “C’mon, be a good boy, give me what I want, c’mon, you filthy little slut, I want it, give it to me.”

Peter cannot believe how fucking hot his skin is, it’s stretched so tight, it’s too much. Mr. Stark shoves up his shirt with the back of his hand and growls as his hand returns to Peter’s dick to pull with a quick rhythm, gripped just a little too tight, “Make a mess, c’mon, mess you up, dirty you up, you filthy fuck, give me what I want.”

Peter moans and then stammers, “N-no, please, please Mr. Stark, w-we shouldn’t,” and Mr. Stark growls wordlessly and brings Peter’s hands to his mouth to gnaw at his fingers.

“My collar, my necklace, you give me, _mine_ ,” growls Mr. Stark, his voice going as low and gravel filled as Peter has ever heard it, and Peter nearly whites out, it’s too much. “Now, Trouble,” he commands, and Peter gasps and comes, groaning.

Mr. Stark is laughing when Peter can focus on anything but his dick and the lightning chasing around his body just under his skin. “‘N-no, Mr. Stark,’” he mocks Peter, letting go of his wrists and collapsing to the bed beside him to kiss him. “Jesus, fuck, you _are_ filthy, I love it. That is on the list, we’re doing that, so hot.” He kisses Peter again and again, and then says, “Shit, don’t move, you get that shirt sticky and Pepper will still make you wear it.”

Peter holds strictly still, other than his heaving chest, because he doesn’t seem to have been issued with bones in this new reality. Mr. Stark runs to the bathroom and comes back with a wet washcloth, wiping Peter down. “Fuck, those panties,” he groans, sliding them up over Peter’s clean dick and fingering the edge. “You are unreal, seriously, Trouble, you are unreal.”

“They’re not panties,” protests Peter, blushing a little and sitting up gingerly. “They’re briefs.”

“They’re fucking panties, Peter, I guarantee you, I don’t care what the goddamn package says, those are kept boy panties and you are wearing them tonight, fuck, I am going to destroy you the second they leave.” His eyes are alight, and the smirk Peter loves so well is firmly in place. “Get up, I have to go tell Pepper.”  
  
Peter holds his hand up for Mr. Stark to pull him up and the man does with a sigh. “Lazy, lazy, Trouble,” he chides, but the smirk hasn’t disappeared even for a second. When they’re standing, and Peter is struggling to close his khakis and not fall over, he kisses Peter with dozens of nips to his lips, smirking and snorting with laughter. 

“God, you are so fucking filthy, I love it,” he laughs, and slings an arm around Peter’s shoulder to propel him through the door and back out into the Penthouse.

“Done already?” calls Pepper. “It’s not a race, Tony.”

“The little fuck is _wearing_ those _panties_ you got him,” shouts Tony, his voice gleeful, hands on Peter’s shoulders pushing him before him on the stairs. 

“Oh, my,” laughs Pepper. “Well, we didn’t specify. You ok, Peter?” she asks on another laugh as they enter the living area. 

Peter is going to die of blushes, but he’s okay, so he nods.

“Didn’t expect that, did you?” she teases. “He’s got a thing, should have mentioned it.”

“Panties, Pepper,” laughs Mr. Stark. “ _Panties_.”

“They’re briefs,” explains Peter.

Pepper raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of wine instead of reassuring him. Mr. Stark dips a finger into the back of Peter’s khakis and Peter twists to smack at his arm. 

“Oh, you’re going to be doing that all night,” laughs Pepper. “Don’t start now. You- I’m sorry, I should have said.”

“He didn’t do this- ack!- when you bought them for me,” complains Peter, sidling away from Mr. Stark. 

“Yeah, because you’d blown me in the car, and we were at a science museum,” chuckles Mr. Stark. “We’re in my tower, and there’s not going to be any children here tonight.”

“Behave,” chides Pepper, but she says it like she doesn’t expect much.

“Well let’s go back upstairs, I’ll blow you, and then you can keep your hands out of my pants,” Peter offers in what he thinks is a reasonable tone.

“Yes!” shouts Mr. Stark, at the same time as Pepper shouts, “No!” and FRIDAY announces, “Incoming, one daddy, one brat, and one babyboy.”

“ _Damn it_ ,” swear Peter and Mr. Stark in unison. They smile at each other, exhilarated. 

Pepper rolls her eyes and moans, “Oh my poor feet,” sliding her heels back on and lifting her face to demand kisses from Mr. Stark. He obliges, two fingers digging under Peter’s waistband at the same time. “Incorrigible,” she chides him, smiling.

“Still me,” Mr. Stark laughs. The elevator announces the car and they drift over to greet Kevin, Bryce, and Eddie.

Kevin smiles at Peter, pulling him in for a kiss on the cheek and a comfortable embrace. He says, “It’s wonderful to see you, young man. Are you staying good for my old friend?” He turns to kiss Pepper on the cheek instead of waiting for an answer.

Peter bites his lip, horribly aware of the briefs as Mr. Stark’s laugh rings out behind him. “Nothing but Trouble,” he promises, patting Peter’s ass in a proprietary manner as he walks past them.

Peter watches as Mr. Stark leans in and hugs Bryce, kissing his cheek and saying, “And you, you prepared to behave?”

“Y-yes, sir,” breathes Bryce, cheeks flushing. Mr. Stark nods and sets him aside, near Kevin. Bryce seems to enjoy the manhandling, if all the blushing and gulping is any indicator.

“And you, you brat?” Mr. Stark says, pulling Eddie into a hug, kissing his cheek, “Are you in any danger of behaving yourself tonight if I let you roam freely? Are you going to be a good boy tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” says Eddie stubbornly, nodding his head.

“Good boy. Peter might not mind if I have to sort you out, but Pepper will claim first strike and she’s vicious,” Mr. Stark informs him.

Ms. Potts waves her fingers at Eddie and he swallows and says, “No, sir, I won’t have to find out, I promise.”

“Good boy,” praises Mr. Stark again.

“Well, come sit down,” laughs Ms. Potts, “dinner is served, although, Bryce, I don’t think it will live up to your standards, you’re working under Chef Frank, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” enthuses Bryce, “but I love food, so it’s going to be great! Oh, Peter! Thank you so much for the mini drones, we spent all day having drone wars, it was _awesome.”_

“Thanks, Peter,” agrees Eddie simply, dipping his head. Peter smiles happily at both of them and says, “Thanks for the _cookies_!”

Pepper is clearly charmed by Bryce’s enthusiasm and draws stories of kitchen disasters out of him throughout dinner. This dinner is much less stifled and formal than the one at Kevin’s penthouse, but Peter is just as eager for it to be over. Eddie keeps slotting him glances and he knows the faster he gets Eddie out of there, the better it will be for everyone. He promised Eddie he would _help._

Finally, though, Kevin sighs and says, “You boys go run off and play, I want some peace and quiet with the Starks.”

“We’re not married yet,” smiles Pepper.

“How is the planning going?” asks Kevin, shifting his body and clearly dismissing them.

Peter motions for Eddie and Bryce to follow him upstairs to his room. As soon as the door closes, Eddie gasps, “Oh my God, how am I doing? Pepper is _terrifying,_ how can you live with either one of them?” He collapses onto Peter’s futon and Bryce flops to sit by his head, sighing.

“I think you did ok,” says Bryce, carding his fingers through Eddie’s hair casually. “Usually everyone hushes you and no one hushed you once!”

Eddie scowls and him and says, “Peter, your opinion please, you know the monster, was he impressed?”

Peter smiles at this description of Mr. Stark and answers honestly, “I think it takes a lot to impress him, Eddie. But you didn’t _disappoint_ him, anyway.”

Eddie heaves a comical sigh and says, “I’m never earning back that watch, I can’t, this is too hard.”

“It’s not _that_ hard,” objects Bryce. “You just liked the spanking too much.”

“I didn’t!” objects Eddie with a shudder.

Peter tilts his head and asks, “I mean, it wasn’t fun but it wasn’t awful when he- handled- me, what happened to you? Did he do it differently?” Mr. Stark had said he handled them the same, after all.

“Ugh,” sighs Eddie, rolling over to lay on his back. “Ok, Bryce, listen up because I’m only telling this once, and you are going to realize you do not want to cross Tony.” He rolls over to face Peter again, and Bryce rolls his eyes at Peter.

Peter settles on the floor pillow by the futon and tilts his head to show rapt attention.

Eddie looks around and begins sheepishly, “So I was rude, it happens, and he was all, ‘What’s your color,’ remember?”

They nod.

“Ok, so I’m not skipping to my doom, but I think it’s going to be a standard, you know, ‘you naughty boy behave yourself’ kinda thing. Hurt like hell and leave a great memory, you know?”

Peter shakes his head but then nods encouragement, smiling wryly. That sounds like Eddie’s attitude problems in a nutshell.

Eddie grimaces and continues, “But we get in there, and he strips my shorts and throws me over his knee and then asks, ‘Why are we here?’ Like, dude, I was naughty, that’s why we’re here, start whaling away so we can not be here already, you know?”

Bryce nods, eyes rapt on Eddie’s face.

“So I tell him _that_ , kinda. Mostly. Anyway, he says, ‘Nope.’ And then I just like, lay there, until I’m like, “Are we doing this?’ and he says, ’I’m waiting for the right answer,’ which is a _bullshit_ _trap_.” He looks fierce at the memory of it springing on him.

Bryce gasps, his fingers twitching in Eddie’s hair, “Did you _tell_ him that, Eddie?!”

“Well, no, I said, ‘I don’t know the right answer,’ and he said, ‘It’s a start.’ And _then_ , no warm-ups, no mercy for my already tanned backside, he just tears into me.” Eddie’s face whitens in memory, and Peter swallows because yes, he’s recognizing a pattern here.

“So I’m sobbing and asking him to stop and he says, ‘Must be nice.’ Word for word.”

“Must be _nice_?!” shrieks Bryce, horrified.

Eddie nods and says, “Yeah. So, when I catch a breath I ask, ‘What do you mean?’ And he says, ‘Must be nice to be able to ask someone to stop and assume they know not to,’ and then, when I’m gasping and can’t even catch my breath, I’m thinking about that and crying so hard, ‘Must be nice to assume everyone always wants to be in a scene with you.’” A flush creeps up his cheeks as he looks at Peter seriously, now. “He said, ‘Must be nice to trap people in scenes they don’t want any part of and give them no safeword so they can’t get out gracefully.”

“Oh my God, Eddie,” whispers Bryce, and pats Eddie’s cheek. Eddie ignores him in favor of staring at Peter and Peter stares right back, cheeks coloring, because yeah, he’s been there.

“I felt so _small_ , I felt so _mean_ ,” Eddie says, and there’s a real quaver in his voice. “So he kept whaling on me and I just let him, I felt so bad. I had snot running down my face, Bryce, it was awful. And then he slowed down and he asked, ‘So why are we here?’”

“No!” gasps Bryce, but Peter catches Eddie’s eye and nods, because yeah, him, too.

“So I said, you know, ‘Because I made you!’”

There’s silence while Eddie swallows back his emotions and then gives a watery smile to Peter and says, “And he said, ‘You can’t make me do anything, little man, try again.’ The whole time just smacking me.”

“Oh my God,” cries Bryce, hiding his face in his hands. Eddie rolls his eyes at Peter and goes on, “So I’m sobbing and my butt is destroyed and I just give up and shout, ‘Because I asked for it,’ and he says, ‘Good boy, _yes_.’ I thought I was going to die right then.” He nods, remembering the relief, Peter can tell, because he’s remembering his own relief. “But then he says, ‘And why did you ask for it?’”

Bryce looks confused and says, “What?!”

“Well I didn’t say that, but I wanted to,” laughs Eddie. “I said, ‘cause I wanted it.”

Peter winces. Yeah, he knows this pattern already.

“He said, ‘You ever think you could just ask me if you want something, instead of trying to force me to give it to you?’”

Bryce gasps again and Peter shares a twisted smile with Eddie.

“So, I sob out no, because that’s the truth, honest to God, I didn’t think about it that way, I promise, Peter.”

Peter nods, of course not. Eddie’s an ass but he’s not, like, _Flash_.

“So he said, ‘Try asking nicely next time, see if it turns out better.’ And I think, ‘Shit, there will never be a next time’, and then he says, ‘Jealousy isn’t fun, is it?’ And I swear to God, Peter, I have never cried harder in my life, his voice was so kind, like he cared, after I’d pushed him and not just asked, not made sure he liked being pushed, _God_. It was like he could see right through me.” 

Eddie’s voice is vulnerable and aching, and he takes a moment before continuing, “So I said ‘No, it’s not, I’m sorry Mr. Stark,’ and he said, ‘Next time you feel jealous, come sit by me, we’ll figure out a way to help you be patient for your turn.’ Like I’m going find someone to love me like you guys do,” Eddie says, and there are tears in his eyes. 

“He was so _nice_ , Peter. About the whole thing, the whole, I was so _mean_ to him and he was so _nice_.” He rubs his eyes and sniffles, once, and Bryce sits him up and pulls Eddie into his arms, whispering, “Of course you’re going to find someone just like Peter did, silly. You’re so smart and funny, and insanely hot, Eddie.” 

Eddie chokes out a laugh. 

Bryce continues obstinately, “Tony is absolutely right, your turn is just next, Daddy has been beating them back already.” 

Eddie looks into Bryce’s eyes, all vulnerable and sad, so Peter feels compelled to add, “Statistically, there is someone who matches up to everything you want to do, Eddie. And Kevin knows a lot of people, and so does Mr. Stark and Pepper. We’ll all keep looking until we find just the right one.”

“Jesus you’re so nice to me too,” says Eddie, dropping his head to Bryce’s shoulder for a minute. “I feel like shit.”

“You have been so good these last couple of out on the town events, is that why?” asks Bryce quietly.

“Yeah, I don’t, I like bratting with Kevin ‘cause we talked about it and he said he would safeword if I got too much for him, but I don’t know any of those guys, I don’t want to, God, Bryce, I don’t want to make them _do_ anything!” Eddie sounds genuinely anguished. “But now I don’t know because I want a guy who wants me, and I’m a brat, Bryce, and how will I know, how will he know, if I never- God, it’s so _complicated_.”

“Kevin has been finding homes for brats for like, forever,” Peter interrupts briskly. “He knows what to do. Talk to him. He’ll help you figure out what to do.”

Eddie bites his lip as Bryce nods and says, “Yeah, Daddy is the answer here.”

“You think Daddy is the answer all the time, anyway,” teases Eddie with a wicked smile.

“I’m not wrong, though,” argues Bryce.

“No,” sighs Eddie in agreement. “You’re not.”

“Well, it sounds like it was ugly,” says Peter. Ugly and familiar, _ugh_. “But it helped?”

Eddie sighs and says, “Yeah. I am sorry, though, like _truly_ . I was bratting at you, and you don’t even _dom_.”

Peter waves this away, it is water so far under the bridge it’s saltwater by now.

His watch beeps and he rolls his eyes and says, “What, FRIDAY?”

“They’re getting restless, you better clean up Eddie and go find something fun to do or it’s going to be nothing but awkward conversations for the rest of the night,” she warns.

Peter sighs and says, “Thanks FRIDAY.” He points Eddie to the bathroom and says, “Go wash your face, cold water.” He thinks of all the things he has access to that the other men might like to do. Suddenly he hits on an idea and his eyes light up. “Bryce, do you know how to play paintball or lasertag at all?”

A sly smile slides across Bryce’s face as he says nonchalantly, “No, you wanna teach me?”

Peter grins at him, not falling for that horrible innocent act, and says, “FRIDAY, tac gear and virtual-guns for me and Bryce? Eddie, you in?” FRIDAY floats a screen in front of and behind him, and he picks up the screen-gun she drops to the floor in front of him. Shuri and him played this in the hallways by the lab in Wakanda when they needed to move, waiting for the Accords to be re-written, and Clint and Natasha will play it with Peter the few times they’ve been to the Tower and not been half-dead from a mission. It’s a lot of fun and FRIDAY is totally addicted.

Bryce is exclaiming with excitement as Eddie comes back and says, “Holy shit, yeah! Me too!”

Peter laughs and says, “Ok, ten tags, everybody has five minutes, FRIDAY, you’re on everyone’s team.”

“Yess!” she cheers. Peter thinks proudly that that’s definitely his influence on her continuing development as an individual. “Countdown imminent!”

She throws the timer on a screen above their individual guns and they all scramble for the doorway.

~~~

“Ouch, ouch, owie,” whimpers Bryce, as they half drag, half-carry him into the main room where Pepper, Tony, and Kevin are watching with various expressions of alarm.    
  
“Peter, what-?” begins Mr. Stark in an annoyed tone, and Peter interrupts to say, “It was just an accident, honestly, FRIDAY, screen, show them.”   
  
The screen follows Bryce as he dodges around a corner, face lit with laughter, and then lands wrong, they all watch it happen. He lands wrong on his foot, and his face crumbles with pain. “No one was near him and he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he just landed wrong,” reports Eddie, lifting Bryce the last few feet and putting him on the couch next to Kevin. “I promise, Daddy.”

“S’true,” whimpers Bryce. “I just, I’m clumsy sometimes.”

Kevin makes shushing noises, pulling Bryce onto his lap. Pepper walks to the kitchen to grab ice packs from the freezer. She passes them to Kevin, who thanks her and wraps them around Bryce’s ankle.

FRIDAY reports, “Scan complete, no sign of breaks, best guess is a sprain at most, more likely a twisted ankle. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” says Kevin, blowing out a breath. “Well, boys will be boys.”

Peter hunches a little, he is not a  _ boy,  _ and he hates that phrase, but lets it pass.

“I wanna go home, sorry,” says Bryce, clinging to Kevin a little. “I just wanna go home now. I wanna come back again, Peter, I loved it, it was so much fun, Pepper, the food was great, thank you Tony, but I wanna go home now.”

Kevin nods, saying, “Yes, that’s probably for the best. I was going to gather you in a few minutes, anyway. We stayed a little longer than I anticipated, but you did seem to be having so much fun running around acting like hooligans.”

Peter grins at Eddie, who grins back. Even Bryce cracks a smile. “We  _ are _ hooligans,” declares Eddie, and then Bryce even giggles a little. 

  
“Who won?” asks Mr. Stark, looking between them.

“Nobody,” they say together, voices overlapping. 

“We all lost. FRIDAY won,” explains Eddie, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, up, Eddie, say your goodbyes and help me with Bryce,” orders Kevin.

“Goodbye, Eddie,” Peter says in a singsong tone. Eddie flips him off with a laugh and says, “Bye, loser,” which makes Peter double over laughing. They really did all lose. They’re totally all losers.   
  
“Goodbye, Eddie,” Pepper says, pulling him in for a hug. Eddie starts out stiff and shoots Peter a terrified glance. Peter makes faces at him until he relaxes a little.

Mr. Stark considers Eddie for a long moment. Peter can see Eddie is holding his breath. Then he pulls Eddie into a hug and says, “Goodbye Eddie, come back soon.”

Eddie is shaken, visibly touched, and Peter feels a lump in his throat that Mr. Stark can know just what to say to help someone.

Everyone says good-bye to Bryce, too, patting him on the head. Kevin and Eddie manhandle him while Peter helps carry the ice packs to the elevator. “Next time,” calls Peter from the hallway as the doors close, and Eddie flicks him off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut in production and post-production as I type. TONY PROMISED BLACK LACE DESTRUCTION, and Tony DELIVERS.
> 
> Gimme a couple days, fearless friends.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter wanders back to the main room, where Mr. Stark and Pepper are sitting with glasses of wine in their hands.

“Have fun?” asks Pepper smugly. 

“I did,” says Peter, slumping on the couch next to Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark immediately wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him to drape against his side. “I know FRIDAY officially won, but I had all the badass moves this time.”

“You looked like you were having fun, running around the place screaming and sneaking,” laughs Pepper.

“Yeah, it was fun to do it and not have it be a training exercise,” laughs Peter. Mr. Stark is running a hand up and down his side and it feels great.

“Mm. Well, I have a bath I want to get to. This interlude was amazing, and has breathed life back into me, and I want to go live that life as indulgently as possible right now. You two don’t stay up too late, Mr. Stark has more project reports in the morning.” She slides Mr. Stark’s empty wine glass from his hand and puts it with hers on the coffee table.

Peter nods happily, and Mr. Stark says, “Gimme a kiss.”

Pepper leans over and slides herself onto Mr. Stark’s lap, neatly inserting her knee under Peter where he’s draped on Mr. Stark’s side. Peter shifts and she presses his head back down to Mr. Stark’s side as she leans in to kiss Mr. Stark. He can feel Mr. Stark’s tension level rise as they kiss, until just laying next to him feels like laying next to a live wire. Mr. Stark’s hand clutches a little on Peter’s arm where it’s resting, and Ms. Potts moans a little. Mr. Starks’ hand really clenches around his muscle, then, and Peter tries hard to not be so turned on right now. The kiss breaks above him, the sound of their breathing wet and somehow heavy in the silence.

“Got your motor running?” she teases Mr. Stark. Peter shouldn’t be here for this, this is, this is way too hot and it has nothing to do with him.

Mr. Stark makes a pained noise and murmurs, “Pep, you are evil,” in the voice Peter associates with him at his most turned on.

“Go play with your toy, I’m having a bath,” she murmurs, just a hint of a smile in her voice. “Be good, Peter,” she tells him firmly, “Or I won’t buy you any more lace.” She slides off Mr. Stark’s lap easily, and begins gliding up the stairway in her bare feet.

“You are such a tease,” shouts Mr. Stark, startling Peter a little. He sounds half mad, half horny, and half deeply in love, which is too many halves, but _that’s_ _Tony_.

“And you know I’m proud of it,” she tosses over her shoulder, not even looking back. “Go play with your toy, this is literally why I let you keep one around.

“Evil, Pep, I’m going to destroy him now,” warns Mr. Stark.

“Good. He was getting a little uppity,” she replies airily. Peter shifts, because he hopes she was joking. What does that even mean in this context, _uppity_?

Mr. Stark glances down at him and shouts up at her, “This is totally your fault, everything that happens to this poor guy, now, it’s all on you.”

“‘Night, Tony,” she laughs, and closes the door to their suite. Peter’s heart is racing, he’ll just admit that now.

“Fuck,” sighs Tony. “I love her so fucking much. She’s the best.” He hauls Peter up to straddle his lap, and says, “Trouble, you are in for it tonight, I’d apologize, but you’ll like it.”

Peter smirks down at him, heart still racing, and tries to force his voice to sound confident as he tells Mr. Stark, “I can handle it.”

Mr. Stark looks up at him, fingers tracing the line of the briefs under Peter’s pants. He says, slowly, his voice deepening, “Careful, Trouble, you’re playing a lot of games tonight.”  
  
“I miss you,” Peter says simply, heart hammering, but Kevin had said, _complete honesty_ and so he’s giving it now. “I miss playing with you, and if it’s not okay just safeword, but I want to keep playing, just for tonight, you work so hard, can we just have fun a little tonight? Blow off some steam? I’m not, I’m not going to bother you while you’re working, I promise, but you’re not working tonight.”

Mr. Stark stares at him for a long moment and then complains, “You are completely unreal. How are you not, no temper tantrums, no pouting, and now you’re asking will I play games with you in my spare time? Peter, that’s the _definition_ of what I want to do with you. I want to play games with you _all_ of the time.” 

He grabs for Peter’s hips and pulls them tight to his, abruptly, the move making Peter’s head swim. He stares down at Mr. Stark, who stares up at him, expression fierce and eyes snapping with emotion. “I want to mess with you, I want to make you blush and beg, and you wore those absolutely slutty lace panties all night, I watched you run around chasing those little boys, in your lace fucking panties all night.” 

He digs his fingers into Peter’s thigh and Peter gasps. “Yeah, yeah, just like that, I want you _mine_ , I want you _destroyed_ , right _here_.” 

Peter’s eyes slide to the glass, where anyone could see, they could- of course the glass is coated in reflective, but they’re in the common room, anybody could walk in- of course they won’t, he reasons. Of course they’re all busy, no one comes to the Tower unless there’s a reason these days, but they _could_ . FRIDAY would interrupt them, he knows it, but… but they _could_. He looks back into Mr. Stark’s dark eyes, and Mr. Stark is waiting for him, so Peter whimpers, “N-no, Mr. Stark, not here, anyone, they could see, they could walk in. C-come up to my room.”

“That’s a dangerous game,” Mr. Stark murmurs, eyes electric, fingers tracing the edge of the lace across Peter’s ass through his khakis. “That’s a dangerous game you’re picking, Trouble, are you sure?”

Peter squirms, and grabs for Mr. Stark’s hands, and uses exactly no force to try to push them off. He looks down at Mr. Stark and whispers, “They could see, Mr. Stark, n-not here. N-not here, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark smiles an absolutely wicked smile and Peter knows he’s going to give in and play, too, and a shiver runs through him. “N-no, Mr. Stark,” he mocks Peter, his fingers kneading into Peter’s ass. “‘They could see-’ Could see what, you being the filthy little slut you always are?” He grabs roughly for Peter’s chin and give his head a shake, growling, “Aren’t you, Peter? Aren’t you always a slut?”

Peter looks at Mr. Stark, his heart racing, and replies, “N-no, Mr. Stark, ‘m not.”

Mr. Stark’s stare darkens into a glare, and he hisses, shaking Peter’s head again, “What was that, toy? What was that you said just now? With your fucking lace panties and your cock leaking everywhere inside them, what did you just say to me?”

Peter shivers and repeats, “N-no, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, Trouble,” chuckles Mr. Stark darkly, shoving Peter roughly off of his lap and onto the floor between his knees, keeping hold of his chin. “I think I can find enough evidence to prove you wrong. I think I can prove you are a fucking filthy little slut, always, and I think I can destroy you right here, right here on this fucking couch, and you’ll beg me for it.”

Peter looks up at him, eyes wide, and swallows once. “N-no,” he pants. “N-no, Mr. Stark, please, they’ll, they’ll see.”

“Oh, I didn’t start this game, little toy. You did, you started it, and you’ll finish it, and I’ll finish you, that’s how this is going to work.” 

Peter shakes his head and Mr. Stark lifts his chin, up, up, standing and pulling Peter to stand. “You say n-no all you want,” he mocks Peter’s stutter, stepping to one side, out of Peter’s space, hand dropping to dip into Peter’s shirt and take hold of the pendant there. 

“You say n-no, Mr. Stark,” as he lifts the necklace with one finger crooked. “C’mon, I want to hear it, makes me chuckle, you go ahead and say it.” He tugs on the necklace, making Peter stumble forward, stuttering, “P-please, Mr. Stark, they could s-see, nooo.”

Mr. Stark’s rich dark chuckle fills the penthouse as he tugs on the necklace and Peter stumbles forward again. “See you walking on my leash? Toy, you were made for this leash.” He tugs again, and Peter stumbles forward. “Gonna get you trained up at some point, so I can take you out and show you off,” Peter gasps and he smirks, “but I like this right now, you’re so good for me, you let me do anything I want.”

Peter nods, and whispers, “But please Mr. Stark, please, not, not _here_.”

“Oh, yes, not here,” agrees Mr. Stark, turning, tugging more insistently, “C’mon, toy, I have plans, I have to gather empirical evidence, knock that ridiculous theory out of your head.” He leads Peter by the necklace over to the tall bank of windows overlooking the city and stands Peter in front of him. His hands wrap around Peter’s waist as he kisses Peter’s neck. It’s nice, familiar, and awful, exposed. Peter pants and whimpers, shifting in Mr. Stark’s hands. He knows, he’s seen so many people stand here, the skyline is the central focus point of the Tower, visible from anywhere, from the kitchen, from the suite’s landing, from the elevator, so very _visible_. 

Mr. Stark’s fingers slide from his waist to the waistband of his pants. Peter bites his lips and then releases it to beg, “N-no, Mr. Stark, please, someone could- someone could see.”

“See you being my good toy?” asks Mr. Stark, amused. “See you doing exactly what I want, giving me exactly what I want, that’s the name of the game, Peter, you think everyone can’t take one look at you and just know that you’re made for playing it, you little slut?”

Peter stares down at the city and pants, his breath ragged, as Mr. Stark pops the button on his khakis. “P-please,” he begs, “N-not here.”

“N-not here,” teases Mr. Stark. “N-not here.” He fingers the edge of the lace, pulling the front of Peter’s pants askew and chucking, “Easy access, good. Greatness.”

Peter tenses, expecting any moment to feel a hand shove inside his pants, while Mr. Stark nibbles at his neck, his shoulders. Mr. Stark’s hands rest on his hips, pulling the front of his pants wide, thumbs tucked just under the lace edge, rubbing small lines back and forth. “Oh, no, toy, I know what you’re thinking, but I’m collecting evidence for _you_. Get to work, Peter, give me what I want.”

Peter shakes his head, skin flushing with shame as he realizes what Mr. Stark _wants_ , here, with the city a few feet from them and the whole of the Tower open to their backs. “P-please,” he begs, hands clenching. “P-please, no, Mr. Stark.”

“You know your colors, pretty toy,” teases Mr. Stark. “And I don’t hear a single one. I haven’t heard a single yellow tonight, so you go ahead and beg me ‘n-no, Mr. Stark,’ pretty toy. You’ll be a good boy for me anyway, I know it, you were made for this, made for me. My filthy little slutty toy, my perfect Peter Parker.”

Peter groans and skims his right hand down his stomach, fingers touching the leading edge of the lace and hesitating. Mr. Stark kisses his neck, lipping at the necklace, and whispers, “Give me what I want, Trouble,” and Peter dips his fingers under the lace, moaning a little, skin on fire with shame. 

“P-please,” begs Peter. This is impossible, what Mr. Stark wants, what he expects Peter to do, here, in front of the whole city, in the Tower where anyone can walk in and see.

“Give me what I want,” orders Mr. Stark in a quiet rumble against the skin of neck. It makes Peter writhe a little, press back into him, plead with his whole body, no, no, while his hand dips a little farther, trying to be such a good toy. “You know what I want, you want it too, I know you’ll do it, you’re so fucking filthy, toy. You want to play the best games with me, the hottest ones, like this one. Tell me ‘n-no,’ again, I love it, love it, that fucking stutter, Trouble.” 

The nips at his necklace have become a steady gnawing and Peter is shaking, trembling, his hand sliding just a little further, almost-almost touching, now. He can feel the wet lace, and he pants, thinking about how wet it is, how anyone could _see_ how wet it is, if anyone just _looked._

“Got all night,” hums Mr. Stark, voice muffled by teeth buried in the skin at the crook of Peter’s neck. “Got all night, Trouble, you just keep playing, much as you want. You’ll give me what I want no matter how long you take.”

Peter nods and closes his eyes, head tipping back to Mr. Stark’s shoulder because it’s true, he will, he’s helpless not to. With a strong feeling of inevitability, his hand slides down and grips his dick, his hand familiar, comforting, _terrifying_ , here, at the top of the world, where anyone could _see_ if they just _looked._ He groans, because he knows what this looks like, here, it looks like, like Peter _wants_ this. Like this isn’t for Mr. Stark, it’s for Peter, and Mr. Stark is just here for, like, moral support. His hips twitch forward, he can’t help it, as Mr. Stark licks up his neck and starts nibbling on his ear.

“Gimme, Trouble,” he whispers, “gimme what I want, what I know you need.”

Peter whimpers, his hand moving steady and slow, eyes shut tight in shame.

“Good boy, I told you, my favorite filthy slut,” whispers Mr. Stark. Peter thrusts into his hand, he can’t help it, and Mr. Stark’s hands clenched on his hips to pull them tight against his own. Peter can feel Mr. Stark’s erection rub into the crease of his ass, and it makes him gasp and push back. 

“Oh no,” teases Mr. Stark, his tone one of false shock and surprise. “Trouble, I forgot to slip a cock ring on you tonight, I was gonna but then you distracted me-“ he thrusts forward against Peter, who moans helplessly, shifting his rhythm just a little faster. “And you know what that means? You’re not going to last very long, are you, _toy_ .” It’s not a question, it’s a _stage direction_ , and it’s not directed at Peter, but at his _dick,_ because he is suddenly on the cusp.

“N-no, Mr. Stark,” he pleads, “P-please, please.”

Mr. Stark laughs. “Gimme what I want, toy, give me all the evidence I need, show the whole _watching_ _city_ what a good boy you’ll be for me.”

Peter gasps, his whole body going rigid as his orgasm shakes through him.

“That’s it, that’s it,” soothes Mr. Stark, as Peter stumbles back against him. His hands are everywhere, soothing and teasing and touching, _claiming_ . “I told you, I told you what you’d do for me, and you did it, Peter, didn’t you. Fuck, you’ll do it again in a minute, or tomorrow, or anytime, you’re _mine,”_ and he grips Peter’s hips and slams him back to meet Mr. Stark’s thrust. Peter moans.

“Poor toy, too fast, shouldn’t have teased me, now you’re just how I like you, just a bit too much, everything just a bit too much,” growls Mr. Stark. He lifts Peter then, easily, and strides back to the couch. He tosses Peter on it, stripping off the khakis in a sudden motion. “You stay like that, or I’ll make you come again, toy,” he warns and Peter nods, even though his level of sensitivity is not under his control.

Mr. Stark unbuttons the green shirt, hands moving quickly, chiding, “Have to clean the floor now, messy toy, came all over it, cum everywhere, completely unacceptable. If I wanted mess everywhere I’d get a dog, Trouble.” Peter whimpers, flushing deep red with shame at the comparison.

He doesn’t slide the shirt off, just flicks it open, his hands running everywhere, keeping Peter at the edge of overstimulated, reminding him of the buzz of racing for four in forty, “So easy, you’re such a slut, laying here letting me get you naked, came all over the floor, laying here in your wrecked lace panties, Trouble. Is this enough evidence for you yet? Cracked that theory of yours, exposed the flaw?” 

His left hand reaches down, stroking Peter through the lace. “You’re mine, Trouble, you were made for me, handcrafted all the things I like best, all the filthy fucking dirty things I’m going to make you do for me. You’ll love them.” 

Peter nods, gasping, “Mr. Stark, please.”

“Please _what_ , toy?” Mr. Stark responds in a voice as sharp as a blade. “You wanted to play dangerous games tonight, games where I don’t listen to what you say, _you_ wanted to switch the rules, Trouble. You’re going to have to start with some colors.” Peter shakes his head, he has no interest in stopping any of this, it feels so good, as Mr. Stark’s hands tracing every line of muscle in his body.

“Black’s a good color, I like it, these filthy fucking panties, Trouble, they’re black, aren’t they?” Mr. Stark sounds conversational, his voice barely affected, but Peter remembers the feeling of his hard on pressed against Peter’s ass and moans. “Such a mess you’ve made of them, on my floor, all over those panties, so wet, so filthy.” Peter can feel that, he can feel how wet they are, sticking to his skin. His dick hasn’t even had time to soften, and it’s so hard again. Everything is just on the edge of pain, sometimes his stupid super spit is _the absolute worst._

He pinches Peter’s nipples and Peter groans, arching up. “What a slut,” says Mr. Stark dismissively. “What a slutty toy, just for me, made for me.” The contrast between the dismissal of the first statement and the possessiveness of the second is a see-saw that has Peter panting, his body twisting under the way-too-much sensations.

“You picked out some toys along with these,” Mr. Stark strokes the lace against Peter’s hips. “I have one in my pocket, snagged it when you were done with your big reveal earlier, before you were running around in those impossible fucking panties, Trouble, running around where I couldn’t touch you, couldn’t have you, all night. I want to play, Trouble, want to make you beg, want to wreck you. You’re almost wrecked now, such a slut, dick’s already ready for the next round, isn’t it, toy?”

Peter nods helplessly. He knows there are tears in his eyes, but he’s worried about that pocket, now, all of his attention on the pocket- _which_ pocket- where there’s a _toy_. Mr. Stark was wearing fitted black pants, it can’t, it can’t be one of the dildos, then, he thinks with only a small bit of relief. One of Mr. Stark’s hands slips into his pocket and there’s a small popping noise.

Peter knows, then, he knows it’s one of the lubes. He gasps, because he’s so, he’s overstimulated, what does Mr. Stark, does he _know_ -

Mr. Stark chuckles and scoffs, “And you said you could handle it. I can see you panicking, Trouble. Colors?”

“Red-yellow-green,” Peter tells him quickly, just to get it out of the way, just because it has to be said and then Mr. Stark, he’ll test a theory, they’ll find out if it’s- whether Peter can _handle-_ if he can, like this-

“Panic away little toy,” says Mr. Stark with relish. “I like that as much as ‘n-no, Mr. Stark.’ You yellow if you need to, you red if you want, I’ll help, but right now, panic away, toy.”

Peter panics just hearing Mr. Stark say the word, he can hear his breathing go shallow and fast, as Mr. Stark pours the lube to coat his fingers and doesn’t, doesn’t show Peter which one, which, there were three, Pepper had three in her hands at the shop, _three_ . Mr. Stark chuckles, and Peter can hear the slide of the lube bottle back into his pants and _oh my God, which one_.

Mr. Stark rubs his hands together, and Peter glares up at him, breathing shallow and fast, nerves tingling, adrenaline soaring. Damn the man, he’s smirking gleefully, cupping the lube in his hands and saying, “Get ready, perfect Peter Parker. Get ready,” which helps Peter’s panicked tremblings _not at all._

Mr. Stark slides his palms down Peter’s dick and for a second, it’s amazing and familiar, and then, then “Ahhhh!” he hisses, clenching his jaw and thrusting up, up into Mr. Stark’s hand. There’s electrical wires attached to his _dick_ , jolting and shocking all along it at random. Mr. Stark wraps one hand around his dick, tugging, and Peter gasps, “Ahh, ahh.”

“Intense, is it, little toy?” teases Mr. Stark. “A bit too much, on top of a bit too fast, oh _n-no Mr. Stark_ , but I don’t hear any colors pass those pretty little bitten lips of yours.” Peter will rot in hell before he’ll give Mr. Stark- ahhh, _ahhh-_ a yellow, at this point. He can handle it, he can, _damn the man._ Peter knows he’s writhing on the couch and he can hear Mr. Stark chuckling evilly. Mr. Stark is a _supervillain_ and Peter’s _telling Natasha_. 

God, it feels so much, so good, so much, Peter is combusting from his dick inward. He can’t hold still, he has to move, has to, it’s so _much_ , so intense.

Then there’s a slight pause and Mr. Stark is gripping his dick weirdly, no longer stroking. Peter pants and opens his eyes, in time to see Mr. Stark slide the simplest red cockring down Peter’s length to snug at the base of his dick. The _pressure_ , on top of the _electrical storm_ makes his breathing explode and his eyes open, wide and frantic, searching the ceiling. His body is one long stretch of tense muscle.

“JE-sus,” he gasps. “JE-sus, Mr. Stark, what the fuck, sir, sir, please, what-”

“I told you,” Mr. Stark reminds him, hands holding his cock and not stroking, _thank God_ , “I told you I wanted to do this, and our game is I get what _I_ want, isn’t it, while you slut around in black lace panties and cum on my floors, apparently.”

Peter is practically hyperventilating, but he _said_ he could handle it and he will, by God, meet Mr. Stark in hell over this issue, he is the toy that did four in forty, he can handle a fucking cockri-

Mr. Stark’s hand twitches up, just a little, and Peter hisses, because _holy shit, holy shit_ , and his hands reach up to grip his hair, palms pressing on his eyes. It’s the only safe thing to clutch right now, he’d _break the fucking couch_ if he gripped it as hard as he wants to, _needs_ to. 

Mr. Stark is chuckling, “Not so cocky now, toy, are you, Trouble, not so arrogant, not so uppity, like Pepper says. You’re struggling, I can tell,” his voice is smug, _that unbelievable bastard_ , it’s smug and Peter could punch him except he can’t let go of his hair or he’ll _break the fucking couch_ , as Mr. Stark begins long slow strokes. Peter can’t thrust, but he can’t _not_ thrust, either, this is hell, this is fucking _hell_ , the pressure, the feeling of pressure, pushing out, and Mr. Stark gripping him tight, pressing _in_ , electrical sensations tingling all along the length of his cock in the wake of that grip. It’s like the opposite of what he imagines being fucked feels like, trapped between those two sensations.

Peter can feel the point when he’d normally, he’d normally cum, and _Jesus_ , he doesn’t, he doesn’t cum then, it’s _so_ _much_. He can’t believe how tight everything is, Mr. Stark is moving his hand slow and steady and Peter’s- he can’t- he prays Mr. Stark doesn’t speed up because he doesn’t know, doesn’t know- there’s so much pressure, everywhere, he feels corked, he feels like everything is building so much, he’s never, there’s so much-

“Getting a little much, Trouble,” teases Mr. Stark, “Gonna share a color or two with me, ask me to slow down?”

“Black,” spits Peter at him, not budging an inch, not giving him _anything_ , shaking and shuddering and thrusting when he has to, when he can’t help it. The way he hisses it, it sounds like a swear word, feels like a swear word on his tongue, so he repeats it, “ _Black_.”

Mr. Stark barks a laugh at that, his hand faltering for a second, grasp going slack, long enough for Peter to feel a minor victory, which is a heady sensation, too heady, he’s- he’s going to- but then Mr. Stark’s hand comes back just as strong, picking up the same rhythm, making Peter buck and groan. “Sassy toy,” he comments in a tease. “Gonna regret that, I bet, can’t wait to watch this orgasm you’re about to have break you down, you got no idea, Trouble.”

Peter _writhes,_ bucking up, completely losing all control of everything except the hands desperately gripping his hair. _Must. Not. Break. The. Couch._ His breath is coming in short jagged gasps.

“Gonna be a good toy, now?” asks Mr. Stark, his voice low, dark, rich, Peter chokes to hear it, _unfair advantage_ , it’s so much, that voice. “You know I want it, want you wrecked, want it to rip through you and tear you apart, I’m waiting for it. I’m waiting, Trouble. I can go all night just like this but you can’t, even with that cockring snugging you tight, holding you here, you can’t.”

Peter pants and writhes, because Mr. Stark is _correct_ , but he’s already past the release point he recognizes, and he is clinging by a thread to Mr. Stark’s voice, it’s the only thing in all the need and pressure that is keeping him from hissing yellow, red, yellow. “P-please,” Peter begs, his hips snapping up into the only point of contact Mr. Stark is giving him. “P-please, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeah, we can’t switch games like that, Trouble,” Mr. Stark informs him, voice playfully cruel and sliding down Peter’s spine, making his hips pop and jitter. “You wanted ‘n-no, Mr. Stark,’ let’s stick to that, toy, so nice to hear, c’mon, tell me ‘no’ again.”

“N-no, Mr. S-Stark,” begs Peter obediently, hips stuttering up, seeking more contact with Mr. Stark, “n-no, please,” he moans.

“Thatta boy,” murmurs Mr. Stark. “Time to give me the data I’m looking for, perfect Peter Parker. C’mon, you know what I want.”

Peter would, he totally _would_ , he wants to, he needs to, but he _can’t._ It’s like the orgasm is just building steam inside a safe while Peter frantically spins the lock, looking for the right combination. Peter can feel tears leaking from his eyes to run down his temple, and he thrashes under Mr. Stark’s hand. 

“Perfect Peter, I said I want it,” growls Mr. Stark, leaning down to breathe next to Peter’s ear, hand keeping the same steady rhythm, thank God, _yellow_ is just a heartbeat away, just one more stimulus too many. “You give me what I want, Trouble, you give it to me _now.”_

Peter is gasping, crying out, pushing up into every point of contact with Mr. Stark he’s been given, begging, “No, please,” on a keening whine, as every nerve ending in his body reports for duty and fire and ice wrap up his dick. His vision goes white, blinding, and then the afterimages settle in, black and bruised.

~~~

Mr. Stark is stroking his face with a gentle hand, and Peter can feel that he’s shifted to sit beside Peter on the couch. “Hey, Trouble,” he says, and his voice is low and smug, “you should see yourself. You’re a wreck. I’ve never seen someone so sexed out. You have cum on your chin, kid.” 

Peter moans weakly and opens his eyes a crack to glare at the man.

Mr. Stark smiles brightly back at him. “Mission. Accomplished. You gonna argue with me about your innate sluttiness anymore?”

Peter glares at him and grumbles, “You phrased that just so that I’d have to say ‘No, Mr. Stark.’”

“Did I?” asks Mr. Stark, his face and voice going comically innocent. He chuckles, fingers carding through Peter’s hair, “You _passed out_ , Trouble. You came so hard it’s on your chin and you passed the fuck out. I’m so proud.”

“It’s on the list?” asks Peter weakly, half-hoping he’ll be told no, it was terrifying for Mr. Stark, an orgasm that intense is never happening again. From the way the other man is smirking, it’s a small glimmer of hope, and fading fast.

“On. The. List,” Mr. Stark agrees, nodding solemnly. “Marcus is going to be so proud. I can’t wait for our next Spoil day. I may call him in the morning just to thank him. Send a gift basket.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“Still with the sassing and the eye rolls, I see. Oh, well, I’ll spank that out of you later, at some point, on the list,” Mr. Stark teases. Peter catches his gaze and then rolls his eyes again, slow and exaggerated. “Oooh, watch yourself, I took the ring off but I could just as easily slip it on again.”

Peter shakes his head and puts his hands up to clutch the shirt on Mr. Stark’s chest, whimpering, “No, please, please, I’ll be good.”

Mr. Stark bursts out laughing, and then gasps, “I’ve been looking at it all wrong, I should be threatening you with _orgasms_ instead of _spankings_.”

Peter rubs his shoulders against the couch cushions, trying to sink further into them, his arms coming up to cross over his chest.

“Pouting! I knew we’d get there!” crows Mr. Stark, face alight. 

Peter shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping from Mr. Stark’s chest, but then notices, uh, well, it just catches his attention, is all. He licks his lips a little, unconscious, gaze darting up at Mr. Stark, who has gone still. “Oh,” murmurs Mr. Stark huskily, pressing the palm of his hand to his crotch. “Yeah, that would be a very good toy for me. I’d probably forget all about the pouting. You sure you’re up for it, though? You look a little… well, fucked over, Trouble.”

“Well, you like sloppy blowjobs,” Peter reminds him, a wicked smile twisting his lips as he looks up at Mr. Stark from under his lashes. “The kind where I’m choking and drooling. Seems like I could handle that, I’ve already got the tear tracks.”

Mr. Stark flushes. “God, Trouble,” he groans, “you can’t just call me on my shit like that, you have no idea how fucking sexy it is. Here, I have an idea, something I want to try.” He lifts Peter by the shoulders and slides him until he’s arched slightly over the arm, head dropping back to hang over it. “Perfect, right height, yeah, that’ll work,” says Mr. Stark. Peter’s got the idea, an upside down face fucking with support, okay, yeah, he can do that. Just, he can’t, he really doesn’t want to get turned on again. “You need a pillow, small of your back, how the hell, I paid that designer like a million dollars and we don’t have a throw pillow?”

Peter tells him, “I’ll be fine,” but Mr. Stark glares at him and growls, “Let me work, here,” so he relaxes, resting on the really very comfortable couch arm as Mr. Stark grabs up his discarded pants and shucks off his own, jamming them under the small space between Peter and the couch at the small of his back. It does feel better, Peter concedes.

“Okay, Trouble,” says Mr. Stark, standing in front of him at the arm of the couch and unbuttoning his sleeves, rolling them up. Peter looks up at him and smiles, because _this feels like fun_ . Mr. Stark covers his eyes, “Oh, God, don’t, you look so sweet, I’m about to fuck your throat, just, _smirk_ or something.”

Peter says, very slowly, feeling a kind of naughty glee, “Oh, no, Mr. Stark, not a _throat_ _fucking_ , please Mr. Stark, _anything_ but that,” and watches the man drop his hand, his face darkening with every new word.

“Oh, toy, those are some very dangerous buttons you’re mashing right now, you sure you up for that combo?” Mr. Stark is caressing his throat gently, lightly, fingers tracing his jaw, his lips, but his tone is rough.

Peter smirks, _as requested._

“Well, I did want to see you destroyed,” muses Mr. Stark philosophically, “looks like I didn’t quite get there, even though you had to hit the reset button.” He finishes rolling up his sleeves and tugs on his tie, loosening it enough to throw it off his neck and undo the first button. “Two taps, remember, if it gets too much, two taps.”

Peter swallows, because at this angle all he can see is naked thigh. He says, “Yes, Mr. Stark, two taps, anywhere, you’ll feel them.”

“I will,” Mr. Stark growls, his deep voice a conflict between reassurance and restrained desire, as his cock brushes up against Peter’s lips, the fingers of one hand stroking Peter’s throat. “Gonna give me what I want?”

“Yes Mr. Stark,” whispers Peter, licking, he can’t see, but he can feel, licking a lewd stripe down the head of Mr. Stark’s cock. It makes the other man thrust forward and Peter smiles in the second he has before Mr. Stark pushes past his lips and Peter starts to work his tongue and lips as best he can, already humming and making eager noises deep in his throat.

“Fuck, Trouble, not gonna- _fuck, you little fucking slut, your fucking tongue -_ not gonna last long tonight, _fuck,”_ growls Mr. Stark, fingers tracing Peter’s throat as he nudges and glides his length further in, further in. Peter swallows it, and Mr. Stark’s fingers fly to the top of his throat. Peter thinks, giddily, _He can see it, he can feel it_ , and then he doesn’t think anything coherent for awhile, as Mr. Stark sets a brutal pace, thrusting in and out past Peter’s lips, fingers pressing eagerly at the top of Peter’s throat. He tries to keep up, tries to swallow, even though he knows Mr. Stark loves it when he chokes and shudders and gasps for air with each thrust. The angle is insane, his head flipped back like this, back arched, heels digging into the couch cushions. He tries, he really does, but Mr. Stark is relentless, and overwhelming, the position is designed to make him vulnerable, designed to make him feel _used_. 

Peter slides his hands between the couch and his head, just to have something to grip, as he loses control of his throat first once and then again, making those deep choking noises Mr. Stark says he loves so much. Mr. Stark gasps, “Fuck, yes, fuck,” and then grunts once, the sound Peter loves, the one that means he’s not lasting long _at_ _all_ , and then thrusts in one last time, and convulses, groaning, one arm slamming down beside Peter’s head to support his weight on the couch arm.

“Fuck,” groans Mr. Stark after a pause where Peter can’t _breathe_ , but he’s also not moving, he loves it, eyes watering. “Fuck, ok, fuck, Peter, _Jesus_ .” He slides out and Peter sucks just enough to make him gasp, and make the wet _pop_ noise as the cock leaves his lips, smirking a little. He slides down the couch as Mr. Stark releases his throat with his hand. Mr. Stark gives his head a tap, which Peter interprets as a command to sink back into the couch cushions. He can feel his muscles relaxing more now that they’re appropriately supported.

Since he knows he’s got more brain cells working right now than the other man, he says huskily, “Noo, Mr. Stark,” just to watch the man twitch, reaching over the couch arm to slam a hand over Peter’s mouth, chiding, “No talking, toy, I can’t, _Jesus_ , right now. FRIDAY, new ringtone, though.”

“Yeah, no, boss, but I’ll save it,” she says cheerfully, playing it back, and Peter and Mr. Stark both startle as Peter’s raw-voices protest projects at them. It really does sound like porn, Peter concedes, feeling a little smug.

Mr. Stark stumbles over the corner of the couch and slides on top of Peter, boneless. “Move over,” he says, but there’s nowhere to move. 

Peter can feel Mr. Stark’s body shaking, and he buries his face in Mr. Stark’s shoulder to hide the shy, awed smile that stretches his lips. In like an hour his throat won’t even ache, and he knows it’s one of Mr. Stark’s favorite features, that he can go a little wild and Peter doesn’t mind, can’t be broken. One point in the super spider spit’s favor, Peter supposes.

Peter has watched Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts for months now, he thinks he knows what Tony loves about laying the world at Pepper’s feet, loves about treading carefully around this one person who matters, loves about giving in just for her, to her. They’re playful and passionate together, well matched for their positions at the top of the world. Peter knows Mr. Stark would have let half the universe burn to save his Pepper Potts.

But she’s not Peter Parker, and she can’t give Tony _this,_ he thinks, this is just for them, for him and Mr. Stark. He’s starting to think, as he feels the other man relax and start chuckling, that he could take this piece for himself, maybe. That maybe he doesn’t have to borrow it and return it. Mr. Stark’s list is getting long, especially if all the repeats and variations are added in separately. They’ll never get it done in a year, even if they were able to carve out time every day.

“Christ, Trouble,” mumbles Tony into his ear, chin digging into Peter’s shoulder. He lifts his head to peck Peter on the lips and declare, “We’re both wrecked, I hope you’re happy now, those _fucking_ panties.”

Peter smiles up at him, asking, “Let out some of that Cubicleville tension?”

“God, yes,” snickers Tony, kissing him again, “put this on my calendar for next year FRIDAY, fuck, that was filthy and fun, you have the _best_ imagination, Trouble. ‘N-no, Mr. Stark,’” he imitates, laughing. Peter glances at all the markers of stress he’s been finding on Mr. Stark’s face in the past weeks and smiles when he can’t find any. Tony looks relaxed and happy, calm, as he leans down to kiss Peter more thoroughly, their legs tangled together.

“I cannot wait to get you on the island,” Tony tells him moments later. “I’m taking two weeks. Just- just stay you, stay perfect, okay? Couple more weeks, I’ll make this all up to you.”

Peter lets his confusion show on his face, replying, “Make what up to me? This is just, sometimes you gotta work double shifts, Tony, that’s just _life_. When Aunt May used to have to, Uncle Ben used to bring her food and give her footrubs when she got home. Well, you need food and to fuck my voice raw, but the concept’s the same.” He shrugs under the weight of Tony’s incredulous stare. “You’ve caught me, too, made time for me when I-“ his voice falters a little, it was _not_ a _temper tantrum_ “- needed someone, needed you. _On_ _top_ of working doubles.”

Tony shakes his head, clearly lost for words.

“I’m looking forward to the island, though,” Peter says earnestly. “I’d love to be naked for you for two weeks, easy access,” he teases. 

Mr. Stark rears back, shifting his weight so he’s straddling Peter on his knees, so he can shake a finger at him, “See? I win, that right there, empirical proof and testament, you’re a filthy little slut.”

“Just for you,” Peter argues, nipping at the finger playfully.

Mr. Stark’s smile is electric with approval. “Okay. Deal.”

They smile at each other for several long moments and then Mr. Stark shakes himself to say, “Okay, go work your own double, but come climb into bed with us tonight when you get back.”

Peter pretends to consider the offer before smiling and nodding. Mr. Stark stands and helps Peter to his feet, saying, “Okay, I’m going to go see if Pepper needs any help scrubbing her back, see you in a few hours?”

Peter nods, mind already racing forward to which patrol pattern he’d plotted with Cap for tonight. Mr. Stark plants another kiss on his lips, tugs the panties to make them snap back against Peter’s skin, and teases, “Shower first or there’s going to be so many regrets.”

Peter bats his hand away and tries to distract Mr. Stark before he can start again with, “Pepper-“

“Yeah, yeah,” laughs Mr. Stark, already shifting to begin climbing the penthouse stairs. “I’ve got her. Good luck with your petty crimes, don’t get shot.”

Peter nods absently, grabbing up the two pairs of wadded pants from the sofa to shove in his laundry chute and wandering over to the windows to make sure he didn’t actually leave a puddle of cum on the floor, God, how _embarrassing_ would that be? He doesn’t find anything, but then, he did pass out. Maybe FRIDAY took care of it, or maybe Mr. Stark made it up, but either way, he heads to patrol feeling better than he’s felt in days, energized and relaxed and _seen_. He can wait until November if he has nights like these every once in awhile, he really can.

**Author's Note:**

> So from here on out, it's just going to be throwing them into fun situations to make more porn for us all. Feel free to leave inspiration/requests in the comments, I can't guarantee I'll write them but you might spark something!
> 
> Also, please, this, like, it's Chapter 13, y'all. If you made it all the way here just to criticize me, but you haven't bothered to chat with me in the comments? Just go away, you gigantic dork. PRAISE ME FIRST, then correct my spelling. (THEN PRAISE ME AGAIN. I need that compliment sandwich. Unless you want to beta. Then, I guess we'll figure that out. EDIT: TURNS OUT, I LOVE WHEN MY BETAS ARE BLUNT. THANKS, GUYS.)


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